Prologue: A Courier of the Nightside
by Sirius333
Summary: It is said there is a place you can talk to God... Perhaps this was the point where I should have called it quits. I should have never listened, exited that particular chat room... My name is Carbry Connor, and this is my journey to the Nightside


_Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and the character's herein and the actions they take are also fictional. I do not encourage nor condone any of the behaviors of any characters within this story. It is a work of fiction for purposes of entertainment only. The Nightside series is a series written by Simon R Greene and I take no credit for creating it or it's characters. The protagonists in this particular work are my own creation, but the setting and many side characters are not._

 _Side Note: I only have three Nightside books, the first three to be precise. Forgive me if I accidentally step on the canon._

 **It is said there is a place you can talk to God...**

 **Perhaps this was the point where I should have called it quits. I should have never listened, exited that particular chat room...**

 **His internet handle was something like Kairos22/4, which is the name of a Greek God or minor deity primarily characterized in poems and prose. After doing some digging on what that name meant, I thought it was a pretty neat screen name he'd picked. Now, however, I am almost certain that it was more than a screen name. Because, in this place, it'd hardly be surprising.**

 **My name is Carbry Connor. And this is my journey to a place known as "The Nightside."**

It is said there is a place you can talk to God. Not just a cheap trick. No smoke & mirrors, no drugs, no microphones or speakers involved. You could, no kidding, talk to your creator. The One. The Only. Alpha and Omega. The Big Man himself. Perhaps this was the point where I should have called it quits. I should have never listened, exited that particular chat room and/or told this person they were a crackpot. Because if what they said was true, then any sensible person would realize that their very sanity was at stake for delving any further into those waters. Because if you can talk to God, that opens some doorways for some extraordinarily uncomfortable possibilities. Demons and the existence of Satan being the most obvious (but not necessarily the most distressing) conclusion you could come to.

But I was in crisis. A moral one. Because I had killed an awful lot of people and watched an awful lot of suffering for what I considered to be a net Good for humanity. But that kind of thing takes its toll. It always does. I wanted to know: did I do the right thing? Had I been on the side of Justice? If not, could I atone? If I had, then what did Good mean, to allow that sort of evil to be permissible? Was Evil even a concrete concept or was there only Godly and Ungodly? Was it merely law and order versus instability, chaos, and Might-makes-Right?

All these questions and more, they said, could be answered at a place called St. Judes.

So I went searching. And searching. And searching. And somebody pointed me towards London. Yes, _that_ London. "Chim-chim-charee, Please-sir-can-I-have-some-more, Ideas-are-bulletproof" London. So I took some time off, said I was going on vacation. In London. I figured that if I could meet Mr. Shady "God-exists" chatroom guy in person, then maybe he might be legit. Maybe he wasn't just pulling my leg. Maybe I could settle my past, once and for all. Put my figurative demons to rest. Maybe, just maybe, I could get a good night's sleep and not be interrupted by post-trauma nightmares.

My name is Carbry Connor. And, as incredibly Irish as that name sounds, I'm actually from the good old U.S. of A. So London was a bit of a stretch. But I needed answers, and I had given far too much of my life to give up. I liked traveling, so I didn't mind the flight. Flying was actually kind of cool, if you don't mind being crammed into small spaces like a sardine. And, mostly, I don't. Maybe it's because I'm very short. And I had overcome my distaste for being very close to other people in my previous occupation,so the crowding didn't get to me either. But even if I hated flying and even if I still hated close proximity to strangers, I would have come. I would have been groped by the security guys at the airport if it meant I got answers. Thankfully that didn't happen, and I passed through security without issue. Because I'm a very forgettable person.

I had come off the flight wearing my traditional get-up: Black hooded sweatshirt over a black tank-top, black knit-cap, olive green tactical pants (Because I'm a fan of the second amendment, and at home I can carry). I looked very, very average. Average means people don't notice you. Average means no gropes from nosy airport security personnel. I don't like being noticed. Being noticed means talking. Talking is draining. I like to _do_.

"You look like a doer." I looked up from the floor in front of me, startled. I have this habit of staring at the ground in front of me when I'm going places. A man in a khaki safari jacket, blue jeans, and sporting a pair of sunglasses and an outback hat, stood there with a trash-eating grin. He was holding a place card that said "Opportunist", which meant he was exactly the man I'd been looking for. Or, rather, he was exactly the man I would have missed because I was too deep in thought to look up from the ground in front of my feet.

He held out his hand, still wearing that grin that told everyone and their mother not to trust him. I shook the offered hand.

"Carbry I presume?"

"That'd be me" I admitted. "How'd you recognize me?"

"My job is to find talent. You look like you've got it. Puts you apart."

Well, that sure wasn't good. I didn't like being put apart. I wanted to blend in.

"You religious?" He inquired.

"I dunno. It's why I came, isn't it? To figure out if I should be. You're telling me you know a place where you can talk to God. _The_ God.Y-H-W-H. The Great 'I Am'. So I came to see you in a public place to see if you're just an internet troll or if you've really got anything of use to say. And here you are, in person."

"In person" he agreed. "Could have stayed home if I were a troll".

"Yes you could have. But you didn't. So good on you. That's a step in the right direction. So you know this place called St. Judes. There are a thousand and one _St. Judes_ in this world. Which one would it be?" I inquired.

"In a corner of London that's not on any map" he said.

"Well, I sure as sin don't like the sound of that" I said. "How do I find it if it's not on a map?"

"You're gonna have to follow somebody who already knows the way" His grin just got a little wider.

"Well that's good, because now you're starting to sound less like a troll and more like somebody who wants to dose me with sedatives and steal my liver. I'm assuming you want me to go alone?" I asked, mostly to listen to how stupid that suggestion sounded aloud.

"Well, you've got to. If you want your questions answered."

Nope. Definitely not going anywhere good. This had been a waste of my time after all.

"Yeah, thanks, but I really need to be getting back home. I think I'll just book the next flight back to the States." I said flatly.

"Your last job, did it ever feel like you were doing a drive-by shooting? Like you were just a gang-banger with a government badge and an oversized gun?"

I froze. He knew. And from the look on his face, he knew that I knew that he knew. The question was, _how?_ My previous profession wasn't exactly a secret. But I hadn't told him anything about me. He didn't know my last name. And without my last name or SSI, there wasn't anything he could dig up on me on the internet. But there he stood, with his trash-eating grin. Giving me a come-on just too juicy to pass up. Who was this guy?

"You want answers, you're playing by my rules. You want something. I can provide that something. I'm looking for talent. You've got it in spades. Follow me, and I can show you the voice of God himself. I don't need cash. I've got plenty of it. And you need something more than cash. You need answers. My payment is a location where you can find those answers. Information is a commodity, and I'm selling." He had the devil's gleam in his eye. He had me right where he wanted me, the scumbag.

We went to the mcdonalds in the airport. He told me to put my phone away, in my bag, to be absolutely sure our conversation wouldn't be recorded by me or by nosy pricks in various government agencies. He didn't tell me as much, but I knew. Everybody new there were monitoring devices in every piece of electronics, nowadays. This made me even more apprehensive.

"Maybe you can't trust me to be a good guy. But I've got things you need. You've got the talent I need. I'll make you a deal: you don't even need to do a job for me, just follow me halfway there, and if you don't think I'm telling you the truth, you can turn back any time. Once we're halfway there, I'll turn around, and ask again if it's a job you want to take. And if you say no, I won't hold it against you in the least. Where we're going is not for the faint of heart. You'll be able to turn back, and walk away. But you won't, you'll agree to do a job for me, and once it's done I'll show you the voice of God, and you'll get your answers. All of them. Whether you're still sane by the time that conversation's over is up to you."

He could have been full of lies, and I'd never have known. But I wasn't going to back down now. I needed to know. I agreed, hoping that I'd make it out of this in one piece and resolving myself to the idea that I'd fight like a badger if it looked like I was being screwed or if he was asking for something I could never forgive myself for. Maybe I'd end up under the knife of some black-market surgeon, maybe I'd end up in a mafia torture basement. But, against all common sense, I was taking that chance. I couldn't live with not knowing.

 **Chapter Two:  
** The subway looked like any you'd find in the US. No, actually, I'm lying. It looked worse and more run-down than most you'd find in the U.S. But the fact remained that he'd taken me to a subway station. Subways are a bit of a novelty for me. None of the cities I'd ever been to had them.

Things started to get weird when he saw a sign in a language I didn't understand, and pulled me into a maintenance closet with him. I thought things were taking a turn for the perverse. And I was right, in a way that I really didn't want to be but also wasn't expecting. The closet contained two scarecrows in uniform. One of them moved unaccountably of it's own accord, looking at me with a disturbing straw face. Kairos picked up a pay-phone somewhere when I wasn't watching, and said the words _nightside_ into it.

A door opened where no doorway had been. More like a corridor, really. A very dark, crimson-lit corridor. The walls were an old _old_ brick red, and the light came from somewhere that was nowhere. That corridor, that alley looked like it led to Hell itself. And it sounded the part. Somewhere there was screaming of awful agony that I hadn't heard before in this mortal world. Somewhere, a bell tolled with the horrible finality of the grave. Somewhere, something was laughing hysterically at subject matter I just knew would bring any sane person to tears and possibly suicide.

"I left my gun at home" I said without even really thinking about it. Without a word, Kairos pulled a holstered Glock from a pocket that was far too small to hold one. "Mind the kick, model twenty is in 10mm auto" he said absently. He sniffed and looked at me "Not that it'll do you much good if we run into anybody serious." I blinked, and nodded as if I knew that, while my stomach did several flips.

We walked through the entrance, to a place just like the other platform. But different. Two massive lizard men that must have come straight out of a comic book were, uh, _breeding_...in the corner. There was a bard singing something that sounded like latin while swinging a tambourine, with a cap sat out beside him for handouts. My guide threw in a Euro note as he passed by. I glanced in to see the cap was filled with all sorts of currency I didn't recognize, others that had been discontinued for centuries, and even a few forms of payment I was sure were illegal. There was a man wearing one of those early diving suits from the 1700's. You know, the one with a copper fish bowl for a helmet. And then there was a cyborg carrying out a conversation with something wearing an organic suite of armor.

My analysis of our new locale was interrupted with a rough jab in the ribs. "Don't be so insensitive, we're very multicultural here. Stop staring." Kairos said in a condescending tone.

"Where are they from?" I asked, glancing at the cyborg and his addressee.

"Not where, you plebeian. When. They're from the future."

There was a _bang_ , and something came speeding down the tunnel. It looked like one of those high-tech bullet trains from Japan, except that it didn't have windows, or even a rail for that matter. It just hovered there obscenely as if the idea of gravity were _so_ last year. Kairos grabbed me by the elbow and shoved me roughly onto the train before I could embarrass him further. I sat down on the bench and looked around as the train took off, not even 30 seconds after it had stopped. Or maybe it had been longer, and my mind was simply playing tricks on me.

There was a man who looked far too pale, had pointed teeth, and red eyes. He wore a T-shirt that announced his loyalty to the Church of Euthanasia sported a hemp beanie that had a patch pinned to the front. The patch was pronounced glory to the the political party of homicide clowns or something. He glared at me. "You got a problem with Vampires, square?" I shook my head in the negative, and averted my eyes accordingly. And he _was_ a vampire, not some angry rebel who just drank clamato juice. The side of my brain telling me that it was just a bluff or a trick actually seemed _less_ sane for having suggested the notion. The other person on the train was even bigger and exuded a stronger aura of menace than the vampire did.

She was big. Not fat. She was _big._ The tram ceiling was about 10 feet tall, if I estimated correctly, and she made it somewhere in the realm of over eight feet. She wasn't attractive in the traditional sense, more like her body stubbornly refused to show a fault. She had a physique like an Olympian runner, and big feathery wings that reminded me more of a raptor than an angel. Her skin wasn't pale so much as a truculent marble color with hair that was matching platinum. A little button nose and lips of ultramarine, a pair of wide eyes with a feral and predatory gleam to them. They were the most hauntingly beautiful shade of Egyptian Blue. Oh, except for the irises, those were midnight black. She giggled at me, grinning like I was the greatest thing she had seen all day. I chose to look at the floor while the blood rushed to my face.

Train sealed itself with us trapped inside, and started moving. Things began scratching at the outside of the vehicle. I started in fright, and looked around, not entirely sure that we were safe. I looked to my guide, but he was just staring straight ahead with heavily lidded eyes as if this ride were the most boring thing he'd had to endure in his entire life. The vampire had taken out his phone and seemed to be mindlessly scrolling through internet trash, showing vague interest here and there as something on the screen caught his eye. The thing that wasn't quite an angel kept giggling and blowing me kisses whenever she caught me looking. I made the assumption that flirting with her would get me eaten or sucked into an alternate dimension or worse. Even back in sane reality, one could rely on the idea that if a pretty girl was still single it was because she was either crazy or because she thought she deserved better than the best available. Sometimes both. Oh, sure. Nice girls existed, but there was no way in hell that their partners were stupid enough to ruin the sweet deal they had. God only knew what happened if you met somebody or something beautiful here that hadn't been snatched up by the highest bidding player. Probably literal succubi that would drain you of your very soul the minute you kissed.

To distract myself, I told Kairos that I was glad their weren't any windows, the things outside didn't seem too friendly. He sighed, and adopted the voice of a parent talking to a dull child. "This train is protected by ancient pacts that their powers can't surpass. The reason this train doesn't have windows isn't to keep anything from getting in, but rather because the realm it travels through cannot be looked upon with mortal eyes. You'd die. Or wish you could. I don't really know, I've never had the inkling to do the research. Some things are better left undiscovered."

Eventually the train came a halt. I felt a very large hand pinch my rump as I got off, and determinedly began walking faster as a feminine voice chuckled behind me. A leprechaun was running a shady jewelry kiosk. You know the type, the kind grifters and bums set up wherever they think cops won't find them. We exited the tunnels up into the street above. Everything was either dark as hell or lit by neon so gaudy it would put Vegas to shame. People and things that weren't people moved about with purpose, breathing heavily like lovers before the kiss; with wild eyes that were full of focused intent, and hopes of dark desires soon to be fulfilled.

At first something seemed off. You know, even _more_ off than the usual wrongness that permeated whatever strange realm we had stepped into. At first I had a hard time putting my finger on it. Then it hit me: It was dark out. We had entered the subway at roughly 11:00 AM. I looked up at the sky.

And gasped.

The moon was so big it seemed like you could reach up and touch it. And the stars. So damned many of them, there was scarcely room to fit the night sky between them. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I was so focused on it I didn't watch where I was walking.

I felt a hand reach out and grab me by the elbow, roughly pulling me away from the street. "Careful!" Kairos intoned. "Not everything that looks like a car here is actually a vehicle. And some of them are hungry." I looked at him in disbelief, dropping all pretense of knowledge or control.

"Where exactly are we? What _is_ this place?

Kairos looked excited. Like an adrenaline junky finally being back somewhere where nothing was guaranteed, the look of manic happiness when you knew you held your very life in your hands, and one wrong move meant you lost it. The look of the ultimate gambler. I knew that look. Plenty of people had it when we'd been in Afghanistan.

"This is the dark, twisted heart of London. A place not on any map. It's not quite a pocket dimension. It's something more than that. Something more spiritual and more magical. Stop looking at it and _feel_ it. Everything here is infinitely more alive. There are no such things as small victory here, every win is an incredible monumental triumph. There are no minor setbacks, there are only crushing defeats. It is like life, but infinitely more in it's intensity and pace. This...is the _Nightside."_


End file.
